


Newton Geiszler’s House of Pancakes

by decadent_mousse



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Fluff, M/M, Pancakes, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:33:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decadent_mousse/pseuds/decadent_mousse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hermann had agreed to having Newton move in with him several weeks ago, they had established a few very simple house rules.  ...However, as Hermann rolled over to discover the other half of his bed was empty and a suspicious smell was wafting into the bedroom from elsewhere, he realized the inevitable had occurred.  One of the most important rules of all had been broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Newton Geiszler’s House of Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've managed to finish in a very, very long time, and the first one I've ever written for Pacific Rim. This is pretty much pure fluff, because that is what I thrive on. 
> 
> Many thanks to my beta-reader for putting up with my occasional grammatical errors and constantly questioning her about pancakes, because hilariously enough I haven't eaten any in around fifteen years and have pretty much no idea what people actually put in them.

When Hermann had agreed to having Newton move in with him several weeks ago, they had established a few very simple house rules.  A few of them had been laid out when Newton had initially started sleeping over more and more frequently.  A few more had been added when Hermann had made an off-hand comment about him leaving so many articles of clothing and toothbrushes and the like lying around _his_ house that he might as well move in, and Newton had agreed and had practically moved in before Hermann had even realized what he had suggested. 

So far, Newton had kept to the rules surprisingly well.  The past few weeks had been… pleasant.  Enjoyable.  He would never, ever admit it, but Hermann was glad he had asked Newton to move in, even if he’d done it half by accident.

However, as Hermann rolled over to discover the other half of his bed was empty and a suspicious smell was wafting into the bedroom from elsewhere, he realized the inevitable had occurred.  One of the most important rules of all had been broken.

_“You are not allowed anywhere near any kitchen appliances, ever again.”_

_“Dude, you’re overreacting.”_

_“You_ set the kitchen on fire _!”_

_“It was a_ tiny _fire, and it was a freak accident!  Nothing was even damaged!  Much.”_

_“Never.  Again.”_

_“…Does the coffee machine count?”_

Hermann sighed into his pillow and sat up.  The smell had gotten stronger and, if he were to be completely honest, was actually rather pleasant.  Still, he was wary.  He eased out of bed, grabbed his cane, and made his way out of the bedroom and into the hallway.  From there, he confirmed what he’d already suspected.  The kitchen light was on, casting sinister shadows on the hallway walls.

He steeled himself for whatever horrors might lie in wait for him and went to the kitchen.  The sight that awaited him wasn’t nearly as bad as what he had expected.  Oh, it was a mess, certainly, and it did look somewhat like a bomb had gone off, but it wasn’t quite the catastrophe he had envisioned.  Newt stood at the stove, his back to him, poking at what only vaguely resembled at this point in the process a pancake.  On the counter not far from the stove were no less than five slightly lopsided stacks of pancakes of varying shapes and sizes, placed on some of Hermann’s finest dishware – plates that were meant for things more grandiose than _pancakes_ , and he planned to have a word with Newton about that.  In fact, he planned to have several words with the man, starting with:

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Oh hey, Herm.  I didn’t realize you were already up.”  Newton turned around, pan in hand, and casually flipped the pancake into the air.  Hermann gaped in horror, almost certain that it was either a) going to hit the ceiling and stick there or b) land on the floor.  It did neither of those things, because just as casually as he had tossed it, Newton caught the pancake.  “I’m making breakfast.”

“It’s four a.m.”

“Is it?”

“Did you even come to bed?”

Newton paused, some indecipherable look briefly passing over his face before he turned back to the stove.  “Uh, no.  Not really.  I fell asleep on the couch for a bit, and when I woke up I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I figured, hey, pancakes.”

Hermann stared at the back of Newton’s head suspiciously.  “How much is ‘a bit’ of sleep?”

“I dunno.  An hour or two.”

Hermann sighed. 

More often than not, Newton’s idea of a good night’s rest consisted of a few broken hours of sleep on the aforementioned couch after which he’d spend the rest of the early hours of the morning trying to keep himself occupied while Hermann slept.  The times he ever actually came to bed – to sleep, anyway – were few and on more than one occasion Hermann was reasonably certain he’d only been lying in bed _pretending_ to sleep, not actually sleeping, and thought Hermann couldn’t tell the difference.

At any rate, if Newton had decided to take up cooking as an insomnia-fueled hobby, Hermann was afraid.  He was very, very afraid.  The kitchen was already practically overflowing with more pancakes than either of them could possibly eat in one sitting.

He wasn’t sure if he’d said that last part out loud or if the thought had trickled down through the lingering connection left by their Drift, but in any case, Newton turned around again and replied,  “Dude, we don’t have to eat them all right now.  We can freeze the rest.  Just pop them in the microwave later and they’ll be fine.”

Hermann cautiously approached the pancake-laden countertop.  Upon closer inspection, one stack of pancakes seemed to be hemorrhaging an alarming amount of some thick, dark sludge.

“Newton, what’s in these?”

Newton flipped the last of the pancakes onto one the plates and crept up beside him.  “In those?  Chocolate chips.”

“For God’s sake, Newton, how many did you put in them?”

“A… few.  I don’t really measure things that carefully when I cook, Hermann, I just sort of eyeball it, you know?”

Hermann didn’t find that at all reassuring.

“Look, I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about the chocolate, so I made plenty of other kinds, too.”  He pointed at another stack with his spatula, “Those have blueberries–“ he pointed at another, “–those are cinnamon, and…”  He paused and looked thoughtful for a moment.  “I’m pretty sure the ones over there are plain,” he finished, not sounding at all sure.

Hermann glanced at him.  Newton had a smudge of pancake mix across the bridge of his nose.  He reached over and wiped it away with a thumb, earning him a startled smile.

“You’re a mess, Newton.”

“Yeah, but you love me, anyway.”

Hermann shrugged and attempted to keep a neutral expression on his face.

And apparently failed, because Newton’s smile widened into a grin.

Hermann sighed and leaned in to kiss him lightly on the cheek, then trailed down to his jaw, which tasted faintly of pancakes – honestly, it seemed like he’d gotten as much of the mixture on himself as he’d gotten into the pancakes themselves.

Newt’s lips brushed against his ear.  “I should make breakfast more often.”

Hermann moved downward, lips teasing at Newton’s throat, just at the edge of where his tattoos began.  “There’s only so much room in the freezer for your legion of pancakes,” he breathed against his skin.

Newt chuckled.  “Even less room if we don’t, y’know, eat some of them.  They’re getting cold, dude.”

“…We can microwave them later.”

 

~

 

They eventually got around to eating breakfast.  The pancakes, by then, had gotten quite cold, but that was easily remedied.  By the time they’d put the leftovers away and made it to the couch – Newton had insisted on the couch, and after five minutes of arguing that couches weren’t meant for eating breakfast at, that’s what the table in the _kitchen_ was for, Hermann had finally given up – the sun was beginning to creep over the horizon and peek through the curtains. 

“These are quite good.”

“And you thought I couldn’t cook,” Newton replied around a mouthful of pancake.

Hermann side-eyed him.  “Oh, I never doubted your ability to cook – just your ability to cook _well_.”

“Jerk,” Newton muttered affectionately.

“And you also managed to do it without setting the kitchen on fire.”

“Dude, that happened _one time_.  Let it go.”

Hermann poked at the remnants of his last pancake.  “And are these fresh blueberries?”

“Uh huh.”

“I didn’t have any fresh blueberries, Newton.”  A thought occurred to him.  “Did you… go _grocery shopping_?”  The idea of Newton running out in the middle of the night – or at any time of day, really, the man would live off of fast food if left to his own devices – to go shopping for foodstuffs was absurd, but that’s exactly what he must have done.  Come to think of it, Hermann hadn’t been keeping the kitchen stocked with things like chocolate chips and cinnamon.  Or pancake mix, for that matter. 

There was no response.

“Newton?”

“Mmm.”

Hermann looked up from his plate.  “What are you–“

Newton’s elbow was propped against the back of the couch, and his head was resting against his arm.  His eyes were closed – his breathing slow and even.  He was asleep.  Not the fidgety light sleep he usually fell into that Hermann was reasonably certain didn’t qualify as restful, but actual sound _sleep_.

Hermann didn’t like to use words like “adorable” very often – or at all, really – but he was hard-pressed to think of any other suitable adjectives for Newt at that particular moment with his rumpled shirt and disheveled hair and a plate of half-eaten chocolate chip pancakes tilting precariously on his lap.  At any _other_ moment, he could think of plenty, many of them not particularly flattering, but right there at that moment, he had nothing. 

That wasn’t entirely true.  He had a roommate – well, no, he had a _boyfriend_ – that had gone out grocery shopping at two in the morning for the express purpose of gathering ingredients for the making pancakes, and Hermann was no longer certain it had been something done entirely out of boredom and sleeplessness.  He had a nagging suspicion that it had been a conscious decision to make him a nice breakfast – albeit at an ungodly hour of the morning, but his heart had been in the right place.

Hermann leaned over and carefully took Newton’s plate.  He sat it on the coffee table, along with his own.  He reached over and gently placed a hand on Newton’s shoulder and pulled him towards him, plucking the glasses off Newton’s face with his other hand.  He carefully lifted his legs up onto the couch and – once he’d found a position his bad leg wouldn’t complain too loudly about – laid back, dragging Newt down alongside him.

The movement earned him a disgruntled huff from Newt, but it didn’t wake him.  He wriggled around a bit before settling down and draping his arm over Hermann’s waist.  He mumbled something incoherent into the fabric of Hermann’s shirt and a couple seconds later began to snore softly.

According to the clock on the wall – which always insisted on being fifteen minutes fast, no matter how many times he corrected it – it was eight-thirty a.m.  Hermann would normally be waking up at this hour, not going to sleep, but since he normally wouldn’t have been up at four a.m. in the first place, he supposed it would balance out in the end.  Whether it was the excitement in the kitchen catching up with him, or his stomach being full of pancakes, or the warm weight of Newton sleeping half on top of him, Hermann _was_ beginning to feel rather sleepy. 

His last thought before drifting off was that it was _possible_ that he’d been a little too hasty when he’d banned Newton from the kitchen.  He didn’t even particularly like pancakes, but he grudgingly admitted that they were beginning to grow on him.


End file.
